This Phone call - It's My Note
by boffinsherlockholmes
Summary: Post- Reichenbach. When Lestrade comes over with a box of Sherlock's belongings, John has to face his demons. Although something in the box sparks some interest, and possibly a new lead.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello guys! This story idea is actually based off something that somebody else noticed in the show... I won't give too much away! Hope you enjoy! **

**I do not own any of the characters in this** **story!**

* * *

It had been three months since the fall. To John it felt like a year. Since Sherlock died he had locked himself away in his flat. Not 221b, he couldn't bear to go back there again, he had gone back shortly after the fall to collect his things but he ended up just sitting in his chair staring into nothingness, feeling nothing but everything at the same time. Everything in the flat just screamed Sherlock. The chair, how he used to perch on it in the depths of his mind palace, even the empty mugs on the side Sherlock had left, still half full with coffee – black two sugars. _Everywhere he looked. _

Mrs Hudson had come up after about an hour to see how he was doing as he said he would only take fifteen minutes. She found him staring into the distance, numb and empty. He didn't even respond to her calling him, just carried on staring into space. He didn't cry. That's the thing – he didn't ever cry for Sherlock anymore. He cried initially but after a few days it just turned into a feeling of numbness, he didn't have any tears left.

John was now staying in a smaller flat, still in London, but not central. It was about the same size as the flat the army had offered to him after being invalided home from Afghanistan. Mycroft had offered more than once to help subsidise the rent on a nicer flat, but John declined, refusing to speak to the man who gave Moriarty the ammunition to destroy his best friend. In fact, he never really spoke to anybody anymore. Sarah had come round a few times to try and talk, but John pushed her away, isolating himself even more. He'd heard nothing from Molly, he supposed he barely knew her really, she didn't even know his name until a year ago, and she had always spent more time with Sherlock in the lab than she had with him. John hadn't heard from the yard either, not that he wanted to. Sally and Anderson didn't attend the funeral, for more than one reason probably, but Lestrade was there. Yes, Greg. Greg who had known Sherlock for years before John knew him, Greg who had trusted Sherlock on cases, Greg who betrayed Sherlock, giving into Donovan's views, being taken in as well. One of Sherlock's closest friends, the traitor. John barely spoke a word to him at the funeral, and he hasn't seen him since. Probably out of shame. John thought he should deserve to feel ashamed. Greg obviously hadn't visited – until today that is.

It was a Friday afternoon when John heard the intercom buzz. Who the hell was it? Nobody ever visited John, not since he pushed them all away. He sighed, closing the lid of his laptop and walking to the intercom by the door, still in his dressing gown. He held the button.  
"Yes who is it?"

"It's Greg"

"What the _hell _do you want?", the anger rose in John's voice.

"Mate I just want to talk to yo-"

"I am _not _your _mate_. Not anymore"

"I'm worried about you, John. You haven't seen anybody in the last month at least!"

"Just leave me, Greg"

"No John wait! I have something for you. I thought I should bring it round to you, I've left it long enough, it's been sat in my office for about two months"

"Fine" John finally gave in, unlocking the door.

* * *

John stared at the box on the coffee table. He was sat on the sofa, Lestrade stood to the side.  
"What is it?" John asked.

"It's- um- It's Sherlock's things, John. The things we found, the things he was wearing, you know, that kind of thing"

John sighed with despair, covering his face. This box would no doubt contain some things that would bring back bad memories.

"Right. Thanks, I suppose"

"It's fine. I've been meaning to take these to you for a while and- well I just haven't found the right time to do it. We need to talk John, really. There's things I want to say to you and I hope you'll listen to me" Greg looked desperate and sorry, sitting down next to John on the sofa.

There was a long silence.

"Fine" John sat up, swallowing the lump in his throat, "Right, okay"

"Thank you. I know how hard this is for you, truly I do. My dad – he committed suicide when I was 15. Anyway, enough abou-"

"God I didn't know Greg, I'm so sorry"

"No it's fine. I just wanted to explain myself, John. I am so sorry. You don't mind talking about it do you? What happened?"

"Go ahead" John consented.

"When Donovan first came to me with the theory of Sherlock's criminal ways, I denied it completely. She couldn't believe that Sherlock had found everything out from a footprint. I brushed it off, I knew what he was like, I think I even referred to it as 'CSI Baker Street'", he laughed softly, "Anyway, Anderson soon got involved and they basically told me I had to entertain the possibility. I didn't believe them John, truly I didn't, but they put a nagging sensation in the back of my mind. God, I'm so ashamed", he put his head in his hands, then running them through his hair "I tried to stay neutral when talking to the superintendent, trying to hide the fact that Sherlock helped on the cases. He then ordered me to go and arrest Sherlock without a warrant. My hands were tied John"

"No don't act like you didn't doubt Sherlock. You did" John replied.

Lestrade help his hands up, "I know John. I do admit that for a time I did doubt him, I'm not going to lie to you. He took us all in, Jim Moriarty, he just finds ways of playing with your mind. I am so sorry"

"You said Moriarty... You- you believe he was real?" John asked, intrigued.

"Mate of course I do! I might not have been to him, but Sherlock was a friend of mine. I believed him, John, I still do. I believe in Sherlock Holmes"

For the first time in a long time, John started smiling.

"That means a lot, Greg"

"It's fine. Anytime you need me just call me. Really, anytime"

"I'll bear it in mind, thank you"

Lestrade smiled in reply "Anyway, I better get off, I'll leave you to... sort that lot out, when you're ready to of course"

"Of course. I'll see you then", John rose and shook Greg's hand.

"Look after yourself, John, alright?" he smiled slightly. John nodded in reply, then saw Greg out of the flat.

John looked to the box, wondering what was inside. Was he really ready to open it?

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter, I felt that reunion was needed. Things do get a lot more interesting in the next chapter, which will hopefully be up soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

John walked over to the box on the table. It was quite a large box, it was probably to fit his coat in. He breathed in, and breathed out, trying to calm himself.

"Right. Let's get on with it" he said determinedly, his voice breaking slightly.

He stepped towards the coffee table and sat down on the sofa in front of the box. He carefully began to lift the flaps, opening the box up fully. It smelled of Sherlock. He grabbed the shirt that was on the top and breathed in its scent, savouring the comforting smell. He placed the shirt aside and looked through the box, which was mostly empty: keys, phone, magnifying glass (broken), trousers and more clothes. John grabbed the notebook, flicking through the pages quickly, checking for any sort of note that he may have left. Nothing.

He picked up Sherlock's phone. He tossed it in his hands, often like Sherlock always did with objects. It felt familiar. He examined the phone. It was smashed on the back, obviously from when he threw it down before he- John swallowed. He put it down, shoving everything back in the box, picking it up and placing it on the kitchen table. It was too much.

* * *

It was 10pm. John was considering going to bed soon, just as soon as this television show had finished. It was the sort of thing John would describe as 'crap telly'. It was a bad idea getting Sherlock into that - corrections every five seconds. John found it slightly annoying at the time, but that was Sherlock. Oh how he wished he was there to correct it now.

The credits began to roll and John reached for the remote, turning off the TV. He sighed and rose from the leather sofa, walking through the kitchen towards his bedroom. The phone caught his eye again. As by impulse, he went over to the kitchen table, picked it up and switched it on. John already knew Sherlock's passcode, he used to have to get it out of his pocket and check his emails so much he knew it by heart. 7437. It spelled SHER, undoubtedly referring back to a certain dominatrix. Sentiment?

The battery was on 3%, about to cut out any moment. John scrambled in the boxes of Sherlock's things from 221b (he hadn't actually looked in them since he packed them) and found his phone charger, plugging it into the wall socket.

The phone began to beep, vibrate and buzz. Hundreds of emails and text messages coming through at once. Of course. It had been three months after all. He clicked on the mail and began to aimlessly scroll the numerous emails to get a sense of how many there actually were. They were all addressed inquiring about his death. Then he stopped scrolling. _What was that?_

_Re: 'John.'_

The sender's email address didn't look familiar. He clicked onto the email frantically, reading the short message attached:

_Just listen, John. You will understand. _

What the hell did that mean? John grew frantic. Who was this from?

Think, John. Sherlock always told you to, so just think.

* * *

John now understood why Sherlock could never sleep while on cases. When there's so much running around your mind it's impossible to stop it, and if you sleep you risk it running out of your mind altogether. Everything always led back to Sherlock. He had really changed John, brought him our of his shell, into a life of excitement and thrill. Now he was back to the start. John never felt he picked up even a fraction of Sherlock's skills, he had been hoping that at least some of it would have rubbed off on him. But yet again, he was just guessing at numbers and figures, trying to pull the puzzle apart, not that he had much to go on.

_Just listen, John._

Listen to what?

John heard the muffled sound of a familiar song from the kitchen.  
Stayin' Alive.

The faulty radio was playing up again. He had been meaning to chuck it out for a while, but he never got round to doing it. But that song... He remembered. That night at the swimming pool, the one thing that intrigued him was how the most dangerous criminal in the world had _Stayin' Alive _as his ringtone, as silly as it sounded. Come to think of it, he hadn't even heard anything about Richard Brook since the fall.

He was lay on the sofa, the room in darkness. He wasn't even attempting to sleep - it had just gotten dark and he hadn't been bothered to get up. John had been thinking, not mindpalace level but just thinking, and to be honest, he was just comfy and didn't want to get up to turn the lights on. He was still thinking about that damned email. It was most likely spam, why was he even giving it a second thought?

That damn song was still playing.

Wait.

John stared at Sherlock's broken phone. Was- was the phone playing that? He supposed that drop probably messed up the software, making it glitch. He should probably just turn it off. He looked at the phone, clicking on the music library, hoping to turn the music off first. No... Sherlock didn't _have _any music. Where was it coming from? He went back to the home screen and looked through a few apps, it wasn't coming from there either. John searched more apps, the Bee Gees still playing-

_"Stayin' alive! It's so boring, it?"_

* * *

**_aaaaand there we go for another chapter! The next one may be pretty long, I warn you now. I admit I had trouble writing in how it would happen but I hope it doesn't sound too ridiculous. Please review!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Okay I decided against the really long chapter... I will separate it out. It's pretty long altogether. Enjoy!_**

* * *

**_"Stayin' alive! It's so boring, isn't it?"_**  
John jumped, dropping the phone. His voice resonated in John's mind. It was him, it was Jim Moriarty. This wasn't an act this time, not the innocent voice of Richard Brook.  
_"It's just... staying"_

Was this a recording? John frantically went to the recordings and lo and behold, playing already, a fifteen minute sound clip. He looked at the time of the recording, his jaw falling open. It was the day he died. Twenty minutes before, in fact. John had gotten that fake phone call about Mrs Hudson... Was that to get him out of the way? He felt sick.

Why was Moriarty talking to Sherlock

-  
_"Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get you?"_

Proof. There's _proof. _Jim just admitted it.

_"Richard Brook"_  
_"Nobody seems to get the joke, but you do"_  
_"Of course"_

Well of course he bloody would, he's Sherlock.  
What joke?

_"Attaboy"_  
_"Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach – the case that made my name"_

_Why _did Sherlock not tell him that?

_" Just tryin' to have some fun"_

Fun?

_"Good. You got that too"_

Got what too?! John wished this was video. That would have been too obvious to film though he supposed.

_"Beats like digits. Every beat is a one; every rest is a zero. Binary code. That's why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me; hidden inside my head – a few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system."_

John was in awe. He'd missed those deductions, even if they did get on his nerves occasionally.

_"I told all my clients: last one to Sherlock is a sissy"_

The assassins.

_" Yes, but now that it's up here, I can use it to alter all the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty"_

John wondered why Sherlock didn't just do that, it seemed logical. He would have helped him, he would have a clear record, why did he jump?

_"There is no key, DOOFUS!"_

_What?  
_  
_"Those digits are meaningless. They're utterly meaningless. You don't really think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears? I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock."  
_  
Then how...?

_"Then how did I break into the Bank, to the Tower, to the Prison?"_

He took the words straight out of John's mouth.

_"Daylight robbery. All it takes is some willing participants."  
_  
He must have had something on them.

_"I knew you'd fall for it. That's your weakness – you always want everything to be clever"_

John had to admit Jim was right on that one.

_ "Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building – nice way to do it."_

John's stomach dropped. _**No.**__  
_  
_" Do it? Do – do what?"_

_God, no._

_"Yes, of course. My suicide."_

A tear slipped from John's eye. _No._

_"Genius detective proved to be a fraud." I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairytales. And pretty Grimm ones too."_

But the breadcrumbs, the children- it was him.

_"I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity"  
"Oh, just kill yourself. It's a lot less effort. Go on. For me. Pleeeeeease?"_

John heard a quick shuffle. What was going on?

_" You're insane."_  
_" You're just getting that now?"_

Jim squealed. Is- is Sherlock hanging him over the edge? He should have dropped him.

_"Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive"_

John went silent.

_"Your friends will die if you don't"_


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello there! First and foremost, I am SO SORRY for how late this chapter is in coming. I've had a lot on my mind recently and as you will see, this part of the story is going on for a while! Just to say credit to arianedevere for the ****_wonderful _****transcript of the rooftop scene, which I have been so grateful for.  
So here we go! Please review, I am more likely to upload quicker and I just love having feedback! Thanks! :)**

* * *

**_"Your friends will die if you don't"_**

_No._

_" John."_

John's mouth dropped open, he was shaking his head frantically, keeping his eyes closed. He felt sick.

_"Not just John. Everyone."_

He balled his fists.

_"Mrs Hudson"_

He bit his lip, punching the sofa cushions.

_" Everyone"_  
_" Lestrade"_  
_"Three bullets; three gunmen; three victims. There's no stopping them now"_  
_"Unless my people see you jump"_

_he-_

_"Your only three friends in the world will die ... unless ..."_  
_" ... unless I kill myself – complete your story"_

John had to pause the clip.  
Sherlock died for him. He took his own life to save John's.

John was shaking, still clenching his fists. "_I could kill him" _John cursed.  
He looked at the time, 3:50am. He couldn't sleep like this, he had to hear the rest.

_" And I die in disgrace."_  
_" Of course. That's the point of this."_  
_" Oh, you've got an audience now. Off you pop."_  
_"Go on."_  
_"I told you how this ends. Your death is the only thing that's gonna call off the killers. I'm certainly not gonna do it"_

**Bastard.**

_"Would you give me ... one moment, please; one moment of privacy? Please?"_

Oh god, was this it?  
There was a long silence and then- was that- Sherlock laughing?

_"What? What is it? What did I miss?"_  
_"'You're not going to do it' So the killers can be called off, then – there's a recall code or a word or a number"_  
_"I don't have to die ... if I've got you"_

John couldn't help but smile slightly at Sherlock's joking tone.

_"Oh! You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?"_

Well he obviously didn't.

_"Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to"_  
_" Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember? I am you – prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you"_

Sherlock?

_" Naah. You talk big. Naah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary – you're on the side of the angels"_  
_"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them"_

What?

_"No, you're not. I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me"_

John winces as Jim laughs.

_" You're me! Thank you! Sherlock Holmes. Thank you. Bless you. As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends; you've got a way out"_

What was he talking about?

_"Well, good luck with that"_

John heard the gunshot and Sherlock's gasp of shock. Jesus Christ, had he shot Sherlock? John hadn't seen any wounds from where he had been standing but had he been covering anything up? _Jesus._

Was that it? The whole clip?

It still had thirty seconds left. He waited for anything more.  
20 seconds left.

Please.

15 seconds left.

Nothing.

5 seconds left.

_"I'm so sorry, John"_ a voice managed to croak out before the clip ended.

John flopped back in his seat, covered his face and cried.

* * *

**So there we go! Just to say I think this story will be easier to write now that part is done. I still need to work out what's actually going to happen, but stay tuned, there will be more! ;)**

**Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Here we go, folks! I'm actually pretty proud of this chapter personally. I hope you like it! (Please review, it helps me write more and quicker!) **

* * *

_"This phonecall, it's my note"  
_  
So that's what he meant. He left it for John, to explain what happened. Who the hell was that email from? He supposed it didn't really matter now, the email was dated the day of the fall anyway, so even if it was from Sherlock it wouldn't matter now. God, why hadn't he seen it sooner? Sherlock had _died _for him. Mrs Hudson and Lestrade too, yes, but John just knew that he was his main motivator. The first name he uttered when Moriarty mentioned 'friends'. Well of course he did, as Sherlock had told him, he was his only friend.

Another time John regretted not saying anything. The one time Sherlock actually told John essentially that he was his best friend and he blanked him. He didn't want to let his guard down to Sherlock, he was still annoyed after all, but now John came to remember it he regretted it. Sherlock wasn't John's only friend, but he was his best friend. He'd never really told Sherlock that. The first time Sherlock had called John his friend was to Sebastian at the bank, and John had corrected him, saying 'colleague' instead. Whether Sherlock was hurt by that, well he didn't know.

His therapist, Ella, had told him to tell her all of these things he wished he would have said. Of course he couldn't tell her. They were things he wanted to say to _Sherlock_, they weren't intended for her to ever hear. He told Sherlock them though, at his grave. The words were often few and far between, but they were said, not that it made any difference.

John glanced at the clock- 4:18am. He couldn't sleep, not now. He didn't know what to do with himself, all this new information and nobody to talk to-

_Greg. _

He had iterated that John could call anytime, he hoped Greg wouldn't mind if John took him up on the offer. He grabbed his old scratched phone from the coffee table, scrolling through his contacts, nearly calling two other people in the process (he was never good with technology), until he found Lestrade's number. He briefly weighed up in his mind whether he should call or not, and making up his mind, he pushed the call button, pressing the phone to his ear.

It began to ring, the tones passing, no answer.

"Come on, Greg"John muttered under his breath.

_"Hello, you've reached the phone of DI Greg Lestrade. Sorry I can't take your call right now, if you have a professional inquiry please call 07..." _John hung up.

Try again?

John pressed call once more, the call being answered almost instantly this time.

"Yes, yes, what is it?" he sounded tired, John had clearly just woken him from his slumber.

"Uh, sorry to ring you Greg, it's John-"

"Oh John! Sorry mate I didn't see the caller ID before I picked up. What's the problem?"

"I don't really know how to say this, but I've found something and I need you to see it"

"Can it wait till morning?"

"No. I've been sat here for ages and I don't know what to do. Please can-", John's voice began to break, "I just don't know"

"I'll be right over, stay where you are"

* * *

"John?" the inspector asked as John let him into his small flat.

"Yeah, Greg hi. I'm so sorry that I've called you at this time it's just-"

"John, you're shaking! Come on sit down, I'll make us some coffee, and then you can tell me what's bothering you, yeah?" Greg suggested.

"Yeah, thanks. No sugar" John called through to the kitchen where Greg was now making coffee.

A few minutes later Lestrade came through with the two mugs, handing one to John, sitting down in the armchair opposite the sofa where John was situated.

"Well?"

"Sherlock left a note"

"A note? Yeah well he phoned you didn't he? I thought that was his note... You know, the one last message you leave before you do to- god sorry I'll stop"

"It's fine. Well basically, I found Sherlock's old phone in the box you gave me"

"Well that was on the list of things in there, yeah. So?"

"_So, _I found something on it. I was looking through the emails and there was one addressed to me" John began.

"Well there's bound to be, John. Sherlock wasn't the only one in the papers, people are going to send things to you too"

"Yeah well it was just addressed 'John' and when I opened it, it said 'Just listen John, you will understand'"

"No sender email?"

"Well yes but I can't remember it, one second"

John loaded up Sherlock's cracked and glitching phone, clicked onto his emails and-

"What?"

"What is it John?"

"They're- the emails- they're all gone"

"Did you accidentally click something or?" Greg suggested.  
"No I didn't. What the hell- _crap", _John frantically came off the emails and went onto photos – gone. He rushed to the recordings. _Shit. _

They were gone too.

"No no no this can't be happening"

"What is it John?" Greg asked frantically, leaning forward, mug in hand, hoping to get a better look.

"The recording!"

"What recording? You haven't mentioned any recordin-"

John started to breathe quicker, talking with his hands, throwing Sherlock's phone down beside him onto the sofa "Sherlock recorded everything on that roof, he wasn't the only one up there Greg, I swear it you have to believe me and basically what happened was-" John was speaking very quickly, panicking.

"Slow down!"

John sighed, putting his head in his hands, wiping his face and then looking up again.

"It wasn't suicide"

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed! I now have more time on my hands so hopefully I'll be updating soon! PLEASE REVIEW!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey there! Sorry for the slight wait - this chapter is slightly longer than previous ones! I think I know where I'm going with this now which is a good thing! So yes, here we go, hope you enjoy. PLEASE REVIEW!**

* * *

**_"It wasn't suicide"_**

John was staring at Greg, clearly distressed, breathing quickly.

"What? John are you okay? Look I know you don't want to accept it mate, but it _was _suicide. He jumped off a building John" Greg put his hand out to grab John's arm comfortingly.

John flinched away, throwing his arms up, "_No Greg. _It wasn't. Well, not voluntary. He was blackmailed into it by Moriarty," John spoke quickly, "If he didn't jump off Barts, three trained assassins were set to _kill us, _Greg. Sher-Sherlock saved our lives"

"What? Why us two?" Greg struggled to comprehend any of it.

"And Mrs Hudson. It's because we're Sherlock's closest friends, and he wanted to blackmail him with somethin-"

"Wait! So... How do you know all of this? Did you just find all of this out?" he attempted to calm him slightly, offering John his untouched mug of coffee.

John put it back down again, "The _phone. _There was a recording, right? Sherlock was on the top of Barts,"

"Yeah"

"With Moriarty"

"What, why?"

"Sherlock recorded the whole thing. The phone's wiped itself though, must of been a glitch in the software from when he threw it," John explained, "When I was told Mrs Hudson was shot, he went up there by himself, Jim threatened him, threatened that if Sherlock didn't jump the three assassins would kill you, Mrs Hudson and I. They talked more and I assume by a loud gunshot that Moriarty shot himself"

"No no no no wait," Lestrade put his hands out, "You say Moriarty shot himself, we didn't find a body, John. No blood, nothing"

"What?"

"I'm just telling you the facts, John"

"Moriarty did this, _all of this. _Turned you, everyone against Sherlock. It was his _plan _to destroy Sherlock, drag his name through the mud. We need to clear his name, Greg"

"I would, John. But with what evidence?"

"You _have _to believe me, Greg! Come on!"

"_I do believe you._ It's just how will we convince a nation with that? It's hard, John. Anyway, what good will it do? All this trouble with no real chance of a result, just let it lie, John, please, for your own sake. Sherlock is dead, nothing is going to change that. I'm sorry. I don't know what you want me to do. I always knew Sherlock Holmes had the potential to be a good man, and he's proved it a million time over, I will always be thankful for that. But mate, just try to let it go. No point in awakening old ghosts"

John sunk his head into his hands, "I suppose"

"Are you going to be alright?"

John breathed heavily, sterning his expression much like a soldier, "Yes I think so"

"Make sure you look after yourself, and just call me, _anytime._"

"I will, thanks Greg, really, thank you"

"I better be off then, got a shift starting at seven"

"Of course"

Greg stood, as did John. They shook hands, John nodding to Greg in dismissal. Greg showed himself out, closing the door of the flat behind him. John remained stood there, staring into space, clenching and unclenching his shaking hands. He looked down at the phone. _Useless piece of utter crap. _He picked it up and threw it across the room, rushing to his bedroom to go to bed, not that he'd be able to sleep at all.

* * *

John woke – Saturday morning. Dull. No work today. That seemed the only ever time he got out these days, although work was never really a social affair, he didn't want it to be. John worked at the hospital, not Barts of course, but one a bit closer to where he was currently living. As for John's social life, there wasn't really one. John had tried going out with some old army friends a couple of months back, but it was too hard for everyone to avoid the elephant in the room. Sherlock. Of course there had been questions, there would be wouldn't there? The infamous fake vigilante who suddenly committed suicide, leaving his best friend and colleague behind – John. He didn't know how many more _'I'm_ _sorry'_s he could take.

John turned to his side and glanced at the clock – 6:24am. He sighed, he might as well get up, he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep now. How much sleep had he had last night? Probably about an hour, if that. About the normal, really. At least he hadn't woken up during the night. Normally he did, the same nightmare every time. When he had first been invalided home from Afghanistan it had been the visions of the war, getting shot at, his comrades shouting his name. Those had vanished when he met Sherlock, the action sweeping into his life, pushing out the bad dreams.

No, he had a different nightmare now. The fall. Replayed in his mind over and over.

"_Goodbye, John"_

_"No, don't"_

Then he falls, just like then, like every time. John wakes when he hits the ground, usually drenched in sweat, gasping for air. The dream varied often, never getting better, always getting worse. Sherlock telling John it was his fault, even sometimes he saw a doppelganger of himself on that roof with Sherlock, it pushing Sherlock off the edge, sending him plummeting towards the concrete. Mostly John dreamt he was trapped in a glass box, powerless. He couldn't speak. His phone would be outside of the glass box, on the floor. Sherlock's name would flash up on the screen, him calling John for the final phonecall. No matter how much John banged at the glass, he could never break it. Sherlock would jump again.

Every time was as worse as the last. He couldn't stop it. That's why he never liked to sleep, always staying up – he was scared to see that again.

* * *

After about ten minutes John had eventually decided he should get out of bed. In last night's clothes, he walked into the kitchen, switching on the kettle by instinct. He grabbed a mug, placing it on the side, spooning the coffee granules in. When Sherlock had first died, for about two weeks he kept having the same habit – he always got two mugs out. He wasn't ever thinking about it, he always did it instinctively.

The kettle continued to boil on, John wishing he'd put less water in; he didn't need a whole kettle full, and it just took twice the time to boil. He spotted the box across the kitchen, sitting on the table. He needed to go through it properly, maybe there were more clues. Coffee and shower first though, he thought as the kettle clicked off its boil.

John sat down on the sofa, the box in front of him, just like yesterday. He lifted the flaps, looking inside. The box was filled with miscellaneous things, he needed a proper lis-

**_"Well basically, I found Sherlock's old phone in the box you gave me"_**

**_"Well that was on the list of things in there, yeah. So?"_**

_The list of what was in there. _Lestrade.

He grabbed his phone and dialled his number once more, feeling slightly guilty about ringing him. He supposed he'd just started his shift now anyway as it was just after seven, so at least he wasn't waking him up again.

"Hi, John?"

"Uh, yeah, just one thing. You know you said you had a list of stuff that was in that box – could you send it to me please?"

"No idea why you need it but yeah, sure, I'll email it now"

"Thanks, bye"

* * *

_-Coat  
-Scarf  
-Keys  
-Phone  
-Chewing Gum  
-Shirt  
-Magnifying Glass  
-Socks  
-Pants (disposed)  
-Pen  
-Notepad_

Nothing out of the ordinary. He rifled through the box, examining everything carefully, even going as far to get Sherlock's old magnifying glass out of his boxes in the back room, to look for more detail. Nothing.

He held the keys in his hands, jingling them slightly. He still had that key-ring that John had bought him from Malta a while ago, he smiled. He missed 221b. He knew he could go back if he wanted to. It wasn't necessarily the building that he missed, although it was nice – it was Sherlock. The thing that made 221b home was Sherlock, and he couldn't go back without him.

He decided to go through the list again when something struck him – where was Sherlock's coat?

* * *

**Duh duh duuuuuuhhhhh!**

**Well, I hope you enjoyed that chapter and PLEASE REVIEW! Thank you so much to all of the lovely reviews I've had so far. I'm so happy that you like the story. I would love to have more feedback, so please leave a quick review if you can, THANK YOU! :)**

**(can I also quickly clarify that this story is not romantic Johnlock, it's just very strong friendship. Just thought I'd say!)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Here we go! Chapter seven! I'm actually getting really into writing this now... But yes, I assume you've all seen the teaser trailer? If not, GO WATCH IT! :) I will be incorporating that trailer as you will see later on in this story... Enjoy! Please review!**

* * *

His coat. Where the hell was it? He was wearing it when he fell, when John saw him lying on that pavement, broken. Lestrade had said everything was in the box, and everything in the box was on the list. Had someone stolen it?

He needed to speak to him, he needed answers. Lestrade was still on his shift, he'd just started it. He couldn't really ring him. John, having experience of being at the yard, knew how busy things were, especially with those serial murders going on. No, he couldn't call him, he'd just have to go in. Anyway, it wasn't the sort of thing he could explain over the phone very easily, as he'd found out, anything to do with Sherlock he found that hard to do.

Sod it. He could try and call him, John remembered he had a separate phone for work anyway.

John fumbled for his mobile phone, scratched and dented from the many times he had thrown it across the room in frustration (strong phone though, he had to admit). He dialled the number and waited.

"John?"

"Yeah, Greg, kind of need to talk about something"

"I'm really sorry mate, I'm so busy at the moment, maybe later?"

"Oh okay, I suppose it can wait. Bye Greg, good luck with the case"

"Yeah god help me. I'm struggling here. Bye, John"

John ended the call, put the phone down next to him and sighed. He needed answers.

_Sod it._

John stood, grabbed his phone, making his way into the kitchen. He grabbed his now barely used shoes and slipped them on his feet, messily tying them. If Greg couldn't come to him, he would come to Greg. He picked up his jacket previously strewn over the kitchen chair, along with his keys, and he made his way to the door. John shoved his phone into his jacket pocket and made his way out of his flat, locking the door behind him. Dashing downstairs, he slipped his jacket on, the material feeling familiar against his skin.

When he made it outside he walked down the road a bit, hailing a taxi when an available one finally drove by. The black cab rolled up and John got inside.

"Where to, mate?" the taxi driver asked.

"Scotland Yard"

* * *

This was it. Scotland yard. John hadn't been here since their last case, before Sherlock died. When that little girl had screamed in their faces, the domino that set it all into motion. The plan to smear Sherlock's name.

He paid the taxi driver, barely paying attention to him. He'd probably paid him too much, he wasn't really concentrating, he was just staring at the doors of Scotland Yard. How many times had he been in and out of those doors with Sherlock by his side? Uncountable. Was he really ready? Greg might not be there anyway. John was close to turning to leave, uncomfortable with the situation, but no, he decided to walk towards the door. He needed answers.

He walked through the doors, heading straight for the lifts, when a voice stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Um-" he stumbled. The receptionist was sat behind the desk, arms crossed, glaring at him slightly. Of course. John couldn't just walk in anymore.

"Wait a second, I remember you" her face softened slightly, "you were that detective's colleague weren't you? The funny hat? Holmes... Seamus was it?"

"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes," John quickly interjected, correcting her, "Yes, I was his colleague, but-"

"Wait! He was the one who committed suicide wasn't he? The fake one? I always had my suspicions about him personally" she babbled, meanwhile John was clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, trying to hold in his anger.

"No. He _wasn't _a fake, I never believed that for a second. He was my best friend, actually, so if you wouldn't mind could you not insult him in front of me, thank you" John tried to stay as polite as possible, he needed to get in, after all. She was obviously a new secretary.

"Alright, alright, sorry. So, why did you want to come in, anyway?"

"I need to see D.I Lestrade, if it isn't too much trouble. I have a serious matter I need to discuss with him"

"Well, I'm sorry but I can't let you up without permission. Do you know him personally?"

"Yeah, actually, he's a friend of mine" John admitted.

"Well why don't you try talking to him when he's off duty then? Hm?" she suggested.

"I suppose. Right, I better be off then, thanks for your time" John turned to leave, walking towards the door, noticing his limp was returning again.

"Doctor Rockson?" the secretary called after him. She clearly wasn't good at remembering names after reading them. John swivelled round to face her, noticing her face looked caring and sympathetic.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry about your friend"

"Thank you" John smiled at her softly, turning to leave again.

Now out on the pavement he began to think about calling another taxi. He limped down the street for about thirty metres when he heard a familiar voice.

"John!"

John turned, to see Greg Lestrade jogging towards him, breathing heavily.

"Greg?"

"I was just on my way back to the yard and the secretary told me a Doctor Rockson had just come to see me," Greg chuckled at the name, "I assumed she meant you. She said you'd just left, and then lo and behold, I saw you walking down the street and I had to come and see you. Anyway, what did you need, mate?"

"Well that's the thing. Just to ask, did the police compile that list of things in the box?"

"No no, that's all down to the morgue, usually. Why?"

"You see, I was looking through the box, and the list, and I noticed something. Sherlock's coat wasn't in there" John explained.

"Well I don't know really, to be honest. They could have thrown it out? I don't know how they do things over there, really. I'm not the best person to be asking, that would be the morgue"

"Molly Hooper" John suddenly stated.

"What?" Greg asked.

"She did the post mortem, I remember. Would she have sorted everything like that out?"

"No idea. I'd assume so" he answered, unsure.

"Don't worry, I'll go and speak to her, thanks Greg. Anyway, I better let you get back to work" John patted Greg on the arm, turning to leave, obviously eager to get on with things.

"Sure! Call me if you need me, yeah?"

"Always"

* * *

Why was it so bloody hard to hail a cab today? It seemed that every one that passed was occupied. He needed to get to Barts, and he couldn't use the bus. Would Molly even be working today? What was he saying? Molly barely took time off.

Finally John spotted a vacant cab, sticking his arm out to hail it.

"Taxi!" John called, noticing another voice which had called the same thing along with him.

The taxi indicated to pull up alongside John, who was eager to get going. But who was it that hailed it too?

"Shit" he heard the voice say again, closer this time. A woman's voice. John turned, seeing her stood just a couple of metres behind him, carrying heavy bags.

John was speechless at the sight of her. She was stunning. She had short blonde hair, swept back slightly. Her eyes were a piercing blue. She was wearing a coat of an alarming shade of orange, a scarf wrapped around her neck.

Had he just taken her cab?

"God, sorry, did you call this cab too?" John asked the woman.

"Yeah. Don't worry about it, I'm sure another one will come by in a minute" she responded, smiling at John slightly.

"Don't be silly. Where are you off to?" John smiled back.

"The Strand, you?"

"Barts hospital. Strand's on the way, why don't we share the cab? It seems logical," John suggested, "I swear I'm not a weirdo," John held his hands up, laughing.

She laughed back, "Sure, why not?"

The cab pulled up, John letting her get in first, getting in after her. They looked at eachother until John spoke.

"John Watson. Pleasure to meet you" he smiled, holding his hand out in offer of a handshake.

She took his hand, shaking it slowly, smiling back "Mary Morstan"

* * *

She was a charming woman, John decided. The journey in the cab would only last ten minutes or so, but the traffic made it stretch to about twenty. John was thankful for it. When he talked to her he felt so comfortable, they were laughing most of the journey. John decided to make a move.

"So... The Strand, huh?" John started.

"Yeah, the Stand!" she laughed.

"Buying anything special? It's a great place to buy presents..."

"Yeah, I am buying presents! Christmas is coming up, after all!"

"I'm sure your... boyfriend will love whatever you buy them..."

She laughed, catching onto his lead, "I don't have a boyfriend""

John smiled, "Oh! Well... do you have plans?"

The cab pulled up at the strand, Mary hopping out, winking at John, "We'll see"

"Wha-" the door slammed shut.

What was that on the seat? It was a piece of paper. He picked it up, unfolding it. It had her number on.

John reached into his pocket for his phone, quickly typing out a message:

_Leave without even a goodbye? I was enjoying that! So... When are you free? - John_

__He got one back almost instantly:

_Well that was quick! I wasn't completely expecting a message to be honest...  
And Tuesday. - M_

* * *

**So... Mary Morstan is in the story finally! To be honest I'm actually excited to see her in the show, I think she'll be great! But yes... Next chapter John goes to the morgue to see Molly, and I might possibly write their date? **

**Review please! It motivates me to write! ^_^ Thanks for all the lovely reviews so far!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello again! This chapter is quite the monster... (for me anyway) it doesn't have any mary/john in this chapter but there will be next chapter! I'm quite proud of this to be honest! PLEASE REVIEW!**

* * *

The cab pulled up at St Barts, John's good mood instantly washing away when he saw the white stone walls. This was the exact journey he took all those months ago, except when he got out this time, he wouldn't find his friend stood up on the edge of the building. John had underestimated how hard this would be for him. When he decided to go and see Molly, strangely, nothing in his mind twigged to remind him this was the place where Sherlock died. Of course he remembered it was here, but he hadn't properly made the connection between Molly and the place where his best friend died. John paid the cab driver, still unsure as to whether he could do this. He opened the taxi door slowly, stepping out. His knees instantly felt weak, but he managed to stay standing, always the soldier. The door closed with a thud behind him, his transportation driving back down the road. It was just John now – well, John and the looming structure that was St Bartholomew's Hospital. He glanced up, seeing the ledge where he had watched Sherlock fall. His eyes travelled downwards, following the path of Sherlock's trajectory. He couldn't see all the way to the ground, the ambulance station stood in his line of sight.

He began to limp forwards, going around the left of the ambulance station, almost expecting Sherlock's voice to stop him there. He ploughed towards the doors of the morgue, making sure not to turn and look at the pavement where Sherlock had landed. John felt too close to where it had happened, memories still flooding back into his mind.

_"I'm a doctor, let me come through, please. Let me come through, please"_

They held him back.

_"No, he's my friend. He's my friend, please"_

His best friend. They still held him back.

_"Please, let me just..."_

He needed to be with him, hold his hand, whatever. He wouldn't be alone. John was meant to be there for him but they took him away, leaving John with only the chance to briefly feel his non-existent pulse.

John refused to look, warily pushing open the door to the morgue. Damn. How was he going to get in there?

_"Anyone can walk into anywhere if they pick the right moment" _Sherlock's voice rung in his mind.

The secretary was sat at the desk on her computer, not appearing to pay much attention. She'd still see him go in, though. Hm.

What was he thinking? He was a _doctor. _He could think of something, surely... He'd seen Sherlock act before and get away with a lot more. Straightening his shirt and jacket, he walked towards the reception desk. Well, he could try just walking in first right?

John began to swiftly walk away from the desk, towards the corridor. So far so good...

"Um, hello?" the secretary called.

"Oh, yes, hi, just popping into the morgue, need to see the pathologist" John said, acting as much as possible as if there was nothing wrong.

"Well..." the secretary began.

John stopped her, pulling out his wallet, flipping it open quickly, "_Doctor _John Watson, hope there isn't any problem?"

The secretary backed off slightly once she'd had a glance at John's ID, "Oh of course, doctor, go right on in" she smiled.

John smiled, nodding quickly, and walked down the corridor swiftly towards the labs. He pushed the door open, his eyes meeting a familiar room. It was the lab where he and Sherlock had gone to frequently, the place where he had last seen Sherlock face-to-face, alive. There, he noticed, that was where Sherlock had sat on the floor, bouncing that little ball. How had John not noticed something was seriously wrong? He'd seemed just normal Sherlock, really. Obviously stressed, yes, but not that bad.

He remembered when he'd received the call telling him Mrs Hudson had been shot. While anger and worry was bubbling through him, he'd watched Sherlock just sit there, seemingly uncaring. His own landlady was supposed to be dying and he wasn't even bothered. The man who had half killed a man for even laying a finger on her. John should have suspected something wasn't right. He should have at least dragged him along or something.

John couldn't forget the last words he had said to him face to face.

_"You machine"_

How could he have said that? He was not a machine. He was the most human being he'd ever known, far from a machine.

_"Alone is what I have, alone protects me"_

_"No. Friends protect people"_

Sherlock was about to do just that. Protect his friends. Protect him.

Oh how John regretted that conversation.

John stepped into the lab more, looking around the all-too familiar workplace. No sign of Molly though... The whole place was empty. Was she working today? Was she even working here at all? John hadn't seen her in months, he knew how much she cared about Sherlock, maybe it was all too much for her.

Wait, that was her umbrella on the floor, John noticed. It was the one he distinctly remembered that was covered in various breeds of cats. John looked at the time, it was a little after eleven, had she gone to lunch? John decided to sit down, there was no point going out and back in again,_ if_ he could even get in again. No, waiting there was the best option, Molly was bound to come back soon, she was never one to take long breaks from her work.

Sitting on a nearby stool, he leant on his elbows on the workbench. John realised how tired he actually was after the lack of sleep, his eyes drooping...

* * *

He woke with a start, something prodding his arm.

"John?" he heard a voice say, who he instantly recognised as Molly Hooper.

John quickly straightened up, blinking rapidly to make himself more alert, "Molly! Oh god, sorry, I just wanted to come and speak to you and you were on a break and well I've been so tired recently..." John babbled on.

"It's fine, don't worry" Molly smiled at John, stepping back slightly to let John stand.

"Um, yes..."

"I haven't seen you in ages, John. Are you alright?" Molly looked concerned.

"Yeah well you know... As good as I can be, really. I'm sorry I've not been in touch, I've not felt the most sociable person recently..."

"I understand John, don't worry about it. I was the same when my dad died- oh god, sorry" Molly flinched when she realised her mistake, squeezing her eyes shut, feeling guilty about her faux pas.

"It's fine, Molly really. I- I never knew you lost your dad?"

"I was seventeen, he had cancer... There was nothing they could do" Molly briefly explained.

"I'm so sorry"

"It's fine! I mean it's been seven years, god it goes quickly doesn't it?" Molly said, laughing nervously, clearly eager to change the subject, "Anyway, John, what did you want to speak to me about?"

"...You did Sherlock's post mortem didn't you?"

"Yes, I did"

"Could I see the report?" John asked.

"Well I would John, it's just that-"

"I'm not family?"

"Yeah, sorry, policy" Molly truly did seem apologetic.

"Please, Molly"

"Well I can't show you the actual documents, but I can pretty much remember what it said anyway"

"What did it say?" John had never looked at the post mortem before, he didn't want to.

Molly cleared her throat, "Well his Humerus was fractured in two places, um he had six broken ribs, a punctured lung, fractured skull, serious head trauma. Both of his legs were broken, the left more than the right. I think that was it really"

John being a doctor himself knew how serious those injuries were, he would have been killed instantly. He tried to put himself in the clinical mindset yet he couldn't stop envisioning Sherlock lying dead and broken on the table being examined.

"Okay, right", John swallowed, looking down, remembering the purpose of his journey,"Was there anything else on the report?"

"What? I don't think so, they were all his injuries-"

"No, I meant like, possessions and things, I assume you sorted that all out?" John inquired.

"Uh, yes I did, I faxed the list over to Greg after I sent the box. He said he would get that to you...?"

"Yes, I got it the other day actually. I was just curious, when you sorted the box of possessions, did you happen to see Sherlock's coat?"

Molly tensed. _Shit. _She'd _told _Sherlock not to take the coat and initially he'd agreed with her. She'd told him there'd be a list. He'd taken it out without her noticing. When Molly found out Sherlock had taken it, it was too late to replace it, then in the hands of the police. She'd hoped nobody would notice, she'd thought John wouldn't even want to look. Molly had a feeling it would be too obvious. Think Molly, think. What could she say?

"Oh god... I must have put that on there without adding the fact that I'd disposed it. I'm sorry John, that was my mistake" Molly lied.

"Disposed?"

"It was so covered in blood John... I didn't want to put it in, I'm sorry"

So, a dead end for John then. He was so _sure _that he had something.

"Oh right, okay, that's fine. I understand", John looked down, "Anyway, I better be off. Bye Molly, thanks for your help" he turned and began to walk out.

"Oh John!" Molly quickly called after him.

"Yes?"

"Look after yourself, yeah? You look like you need a rest, really. You can call me any time, John. Please do, I'd like to hear from you"

"Of course. Thanks Molly, bye" John smiled at the girl, turning again to walk out.

He might as well give up.

* * *

Molly hated herself for lying to him. He'd watched his best friend 'die' in front of his own eyes and he was being kept in the dark about the truth. Molly had agreed to help Sherlock with faking his own death. He hadn't gone into much detail about the situation, but more to what he wanted her to do. He wanted Molly to bring him in, do a post mortem and fake the documents. He said that he'd always trusted her. She had been touched at that, always thinking she was the girl who never counted to him whatsoever. She was pleased on one hand that Sherlock had trusted her enough to abide with her, but on the other hand she didn't agree with how he was handling John in this situation. The fact that Molly, an acquaintance at most to Sherlock (well he didn't have friends, did he? Apart from John) knew everything as opposed to his best friend, who knew nothing, just seemed wrong to her. She hated the lies, she was half glad that John never really spoke to her, she wouldn't have to lie to him.

After Sherlock faked the elaborate scheme he had stayed with Molly in her flat. Even with the injuries he had, a twisted ankle and a sprained wrist, he was still as mobile as ever, however much Molly tried to dissuade him from overdoing it.

He hadn't stayed for long, though. He was intent to get going as soon as possible to Europe. With Mycroft's assistance (although not much really, Sherlock never liked to have much help from his brother) he was to take down Moriarty's web piece by piece.

Sherlock came back every so often, usually turning up unexpectedly at Molly's flat, staying a night or two and then flying off again. She wasn't even sure if he felt guilty about leaving John to believe he was dead all these months, it just seemed wrong.

So here she was now, she hadn't seen Sherlock for five weeks, she was never sure when he'd turn up. The one time she needed to talk to him! He had insisted on not having a mobile phone, it was too easy to be tracked. She needed to talk to him about John. It was the first time she'd seen him since just after the fall and she could tell that he suspected something! She could barely work the rest of the day without worrying about it. Finally it was the end of her shift and she could go home, not that it would put her mind at rest any more.

She walked into the empty locker room, walking straight to her locker. Why the hell was life so hard for her at the moment? She was twenty-four and what was her life? Really? She banged her head against the metal locker in frustration, groaning. Straightening up, she put in the combination, pulling the locker open-

"Oh my god!" Molly jumped, gasping.

She was staring at the reflection in the mirror of her locker to see Sherlock Holmes stood behind her.

"Jesus _christ _Sherlock! Can you stop doing that, please?" she sighed, trying to calm herself down.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her, "Whatever... Anyway, I've just come back from Morocco, I found Moran"

Molly's jaw dropped. The man Sherlock had been looking for – he'd found him.

"Oh my god are you serious? What have you done with him?"

"Mycroft's dealing with him, some high security prison in Baghdad apparently" Sherlock stated.

"Well that's great! So, is that it now?" Molly questioned.

"I don't know... Mycroft's looking into it. I've got all the assassins, not sure about their associates though, if they have any..."

"So are you staying here for now then?"

"Yes, I imagine so. I think your spare room should suffice. Just keep that cat of yours_ out _this time?"

"Wait, wait wait Sherlock. You're not going to see John?" Molly looked stunned.

"Well I'm not sure whether everything's done yet" Sherlock replied.

"He came in today, Sherlock"

"What?"

"He came in and asked for your post mortem report. Guess what? He's noticed your coat is gone", Molly glared at him, raising her voice, "I had to _lie _to him, Sherlock. _Again. I'm sick of it!"_

"It's for the best Molly, you know that"

"Hm"

"Why how is he?"

"I'm worried about him. He looks like he's lost weight, apparently he's depressed, his limp's back" Molly was angry now.

Sherlock looked taken aback. He hadn't realised it would affect John so much. John was suffering.

"I- I didn't realise" Sherlock's composure fell.

"Yeah, well do something about it" Molly grabbed her bag from her locker, pushing past Sherlock towards the door.

"Do you think I _like _doing this, Molly? Knowing that the moment I walk back into his life a sniper could shoot him dead? I can't risk it, Molly"

Molly turned, looking slightly more sympathetic, "Well, just please do something. For John's sake"

"Soon"

* * *

**SO THERE WE GO. I told you it was longer! So Sherlock's back... And also Molly is in the story! I'm enjoying writing in more characters! So as you can probably tell this story will become not just John's POV anymore, which makes things interesting! Next chapter has more Mary/John :)**

**PLEASE REVIEW IT MAKES ME WRITE QUICKER! ^_^**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello again...! Sorry this chapter has taken longer than usual, it's just I'm really not very good at writing dates and it's taken longer to get this one out of me! Please let me know what you think, reviews really help. Thanks!**

* * *

John took a deep breath, straightening his tie and jacket and pushed the doorbell. It was his Tuesday night, his first date with Mary. His first date since before Sherlock had died. He admitted while he was usually fairly confident with women, he was feeling nervous. He and Mary had been texting back and forth since the day that they met, talking, organising where they would meet, which ended up being Mary's flat. What if she opened the door and instantly changed her mind at the sight of him? He wasn't anything special. Still, he hoped it would go alright, he needed to get out.

John heard footsteps, the door swinging open, a smiling Mary gazing at him. She was wearing a black dress down past her knees, a blazer over the top. Her blonde hair was pinned up in a bun. She looked amazing, John thought.

"John! ...Hi!" she stepped out of the door, turning to lock it behind her. She let John kiss her on the cheek in greeting.

"Mary! Hello... Wow... You look amazing" John commented, watching Mary blush and smile at the compliment.

"Well, you're looking dashing yourself" she returned the compliment.

"So, where are we off to? Any ideas?" John felt slightly nervous.

"Well there's this one little restaurant that I absolutely adore! I haven't been in a while, my friends are always busy... I was hoping we could go there?" Mary suggested hopefully.

"Of course! Sounds great! Should we walk to the main road and get a taxi?" John smiled, offering her his arm, which she took. They began to walk down the road.

"So how are you?" he asked.

"I'm very good thank you, especially now! Horrible day at work...", Mary was a hairdresser, "Way too busy, my stupid boss was taking double bookings! I mean how stupid is that?"

"God I had that at the surgery I used to work at. The appointments are ten minute allotted slots, and you always get those people who end up staying about twenty, which then backs up all of the other appointments... _Nightmare_"

"I just feel like throwing myself out of the window at the end of it all! It's so exhausting" she laughed, John wincing at her choice of words. She wasn't to know, though, "Anyway, John, how was your day?"

"Slow day at the surgery actually, although the majority of the patients that I did have were all kids with the flu!" John sighed, "It was tedious! Thank god for coffee, hey?" he joked.

"Oh praise the caffeinated lord!" Mary added, waving her hands, laughing.

They made it to the main road, where numerous empty taxi's drove past, John hailed one, waiting for it to pull up beside them.

"_Now _there are loads of taxis!" Mary noted.

The taxi came to a halt, John opening the door, letting Mary step in first. Once they were both inside, Mary leant forward to tell the driver where to go.

"Northumberland Street, please"

* * *

"Here we are!" Mary proudly announced, looking up at the restaurant sign.

**_Angelo's._**

__John panicked. This was the restaurant he and Sherlock had first gone to during the case of 'A Study in Pink'. Angelo, the owner had instantly recognised and approached Sherlock. Would he even remember John? His 'date'? He did bring his cane back but still... John wasn't that memorable, right? John couldn't exactly go back now, he'd agreed with Mary to go here, he'd just have to try and stay as discreet at possible.

Mary walked in front of John, pushing the door open, going inside the restaurant. They were met by a waiter, thankfully not Angelo, and they were shown to their table, one near the back of the small room. A candle was lit.

* * *

As they began to talk, John began to relax, trying to push it out of his mind. He would be fine! He just wanted he and Mary to have a nice time. John kept noticing how beautiful she looked. Her eyes were so captivating, and her soothing voice had John clinging onto every word.

He learnt so much about her. She had never been married, she had been a hairdresser since she graduated college when she was eighteen and she may now even set up her own salon. Her parents lived in Surrey and she had a brother called Patrick who was a software designer. In her spare time she liked to swim, she loved comedy films, the list went on and on...

"So, John? Tell me more about you!" she inquired, taking another bite of her food.

"Um I'm a doctor, well, I used to be an army doctor"

"What happened?"

John laughed, "I got shot!" he saw her shocked face, "Nah it's fine! It was over two years ago now!"

"Anyway... I work at the hospital, as you already know. My parents live in Newcastle and I have a sister called Harry, currently unemployed..." he laughed nervously, "God I don't know really!"

John took a sip of his wine, wondering what else he could say without mentioning Sherlock, "It's funny, you never really realise how boring your life is once you try to talk about it to another person!" John joked.

"Oh you're not boring John! Anything but!" Mary smiled at him, sliding her hand over his on the table, clutching it gently. John gazed back at her, clutching it back.

"Well, admit it, you have more hobbies than me!"

"Well yeah... but that doesn't necessarily matter does it? You're a _doctor_! Now _that's _an impressive profession, I mean look at me!"

"Oi! Don't put yourself down! You have an amazing career, you're a beautiful woman, intelligent, you have loads going for you" John gazed at her, meaningfully.

Mary felt a blush rising in her cheeks, "Thank you, John... Nobody's ever said that to me before" she wasn't attempting to hide her smile.

"Well it's tru-"

"John Watson!" he felt a hand clap on his shoulder, surprising him. His hand shot out of Mary's in shock.

Angelo.

_Shit._

"Uh, hello... yes um" John stumbled over his words.

"Sorry to disturb your date, madam" he directed at Mary.

"It's fine. And you are...?"

"Angelo! I own the place" he laughed.

Mary leant forward in excitement, "Oh my gosh! Let me just say I absolutely _love _your restaurant, it's my favourite place to eat, I wish I came here more often"

"Well thank you, I hope you enjoyed your dinner tonight!" he smiled at Mary, turning back to John.

"Listen mate, I'm sorry to hear about what happened... God it's horrible, ain't it? If you ever need anything- actually you know what? You can have your meal on the house, it's the least I can do for you"

"Thank you..." John was unsure of what to say.

Angelo retreated while John turned back towards Mary, "Anyway... Where were we?" he tried to act as if it hadn't happened, but Mary was having none of it. She looked utterly puzzled.

"John"

"Hm? Sorry, did you want dessert?" John grabbed the menu, looking down at it to avoid eye contact.

"What did he mean 'what happened'? I don't understand" she looked concerned.

John panicked. He couldn't tell her about Sherlock, not tonight. Just for once he wanted to be known as somebody else other than that 'suicidal fake detective's assistant'.

"Dunno, think it was something that happened down the road a couple of weeks ago, to be honest I wasn't completely sure what he was talking about!" he lied, knowing it was a terrible excuse, "I'm just gonna nip to the loo, if you want to get your stuff together?" he smiled, getting up and walking to the toilets, leaving a slightly disgruntled Mary behind.

* * *

When they'd finally made it outside, John noticed Mary's mood had turned.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he smiled, rubbing her arm.

"I want to know what Angelo was talking about back there" Mary looked at John seriously.

"It was nothing, seriously!" he chuckled, hoping to laugh it off.

"He said it was something horrible" there was no fooling Mary anymore. John's facade dropped, his happy care-free front crumbling.

"Yeah, well" he looked down, avoiding eye contact.

Mary took John's hand and led them to a bench around the corner, seating them both.

"What happened, John?"

_Those words. _Those three words, he'd last heard them from his therapist Ella, just after Sherlock died.

"_What happened John?"_

_"Sher-"_

_"You need to get it out"_

_"My best friend, Sherlock Holmes, is dead."_

It all came flooding back to him very quickly, the pain becoming more raw with every passing second. His eyes began to sting, welling up.

"No" he shook his head.

"Please"

There was a long pause.

"Fine", John swallowed, "I- I had a friend once- well, my best friend, funny old bloke," John laughed sadly, "and we lived together in a flat, nothing funny or anything like that, no matter how many people assumed it! He was a detective, an _extraordinarily _skilled man, and we helped the police and other people to solve crimes"

"Yes?"

"Well one day the police decided to turn on him, and... somebody else did too ", John's throat closed up, he couldn't go on.

Mary shuffled closer, rubbing John's arm, encouraging him, "Please, John"

John looked up, his voice cracking as he spoke, "He committed suicide three months ago"

Mary's jaw dropped as she realised.

"Sherlock Holmes?"

John's gaze told her the answer, and she pulled him into a tight hug, cradling his head into her shoulder, "Oh my god John I'm so sorry, I can't believe I didn't realise. Why didn't you tell me?"

John pulled back from the hug, still hanging onto her hand, "It's a bit of a put-off to be honest, don't you think? The friend of the fake detective? Which he _wasn't _by the way..."

"I believed in him, John! I'd heard about him and there was no way he could have faked all of that, no way" John looked up, amazed, "Jesus John, I knew I recognised you from somewhere... You could have told me!"

He didn't want to mention about the recording or anything, he may have sounded like a bit of a nutter.

"I just wanted to be known as someone else apart from Sherlock Holmes' assistant, you know? For the past three months all I've had all the time is people just dancing around me, I can't take it. And then when I met you and you treated me like a normal person... It was nice. Not that I don't miss Sherlock, course I do, but it's nice to have someone to talk to you that isn't constantly asking whether you're eating okay or whatever. I mean I'm very lucky to have lovely friends, but it gets tiring sometimes, you know?" John admitted.

"I understand. And is it really that bad with you? Have you not been eating properly?" she grew concerned.

"Well at the start I barely ate anything at all, but... it's getting better though I think" he nodded.

"Well I hope so. I don't want a lovely man like you just wasting away" she placed her hand on John's cheek, smiling at him. John smiled back.

* * *

**PLEASE REVIEW! Things in this story will be heating up soon I promise...**


	10. Chapter 10

**First thing's first. I'm so sorry for how late this chapter is... 1) I was so busy 2) I had tonnes of work seriously and 3) I've been a tad stuck on how to play this chapter. But yes, I hope you enjoy... The story is now heating up...**

**Please review!**

* * *

"Hello?" John spoke as Mary answered the phone.

"Hi John" Mary replied, you could hear the smile in her voice.

"So, how are you this morning? I know I only saw you yesterday but you know..."

"I'm great, thanks. Thank you for last night, John, I had a lovely time"

"My pleasure, me too" he spoke softly.

"...Thank you for being so honest with me. To be honest it wasn't really any of my business and I shouldn't have been prying in the first place. For that I'm sorry John, really"

"Don't apologise! I would have had to tell you at some point I suppose if we were going to do this again- _do _you want to do this again?" he asked nervously.

She laughed, "Of course! I would love to, John. You can pick the place this time!"

"That's great, and uh yeah sure! ...When were you thinking?"

"Well I'm free after work on Friday...?" she suggested.

"Perfect"

"Great! So... Where are we going?" she inquired, laughing.

"You just wait and see... I'll think of something!"

* * *

Greg was at his wit's end with this serial murder case. It had been going on for weeks now and they still felt no closer to finding the murderer. He needed Sherlock. He had a forensics team at his fingertips but Sherlock was always just _better. _He'd spot the clues that everyone else had missed, piece together the whole event in front of them. To be honest it was that accurate most of the time he usually wasn't surprised why people maybe thought he was the guilty one occasionally. Greg never questioned him though.

He'd known him for about seven years before he died. When he'd first met him, a messed up young man who had a habit of taking every kind of drug he could get his hands on. He'd seen him grow, he even agreed to give up smoking with him so they could do it together. Sherlock Holmes was a great man, and he'd definitely proved he was a good one.

Greg was sat in his office looking over at papers detailing the crime scenes of the murders, still very much confused, when his phone began to ring. He pressed the button and held it to his ear. A voice on the other end told him that there was a car being brought in that was supposedly related to the murder case.

Greg jumped up, hoping this was what he needed to move along with the case. The car was apparently at the Police depot being investigated. He'd better get down there.

* * *

Greg pulled up outside the police depot, strangely seeing no other police cars outside, were they all inside or what? He shrugged it off, getting out of the car, strolling towards the entrance. The door was open – people must already be inside. Greg remembered a case he worked on with Sherlock once, coming to investigate Ian Monkford's car here. Sherlock noticed the significance of having _exactly _a litre of blood on the seat, nobody else in the forensics team noticed that. Hopefully they would be able to salvage some useful information from this new car without Sherlock there.

The door slammed shut behind him, creating an echo in the large concrete building. It seemed unusually quiet somehow. Oh well, Greg thought, they were probably just further into the building. The lights turned on automatically one by one as Lestrade made his way down the empty corridor of sorts.

When he saw nobody around, he called out, "Uh, hello? It's D.I. Lestrade here? I heard you got a car for me to look at?"

Nobody answered.

He walked further down the hallway , looking around. The place looked empty, which was quite unusual – there was usually _somebody _there. He reached inside his coat pocket for his radio, which was no longer getting any signal.

"Jesus Christ... Seriously I don't need this right now... Is the car fucking here or not?" he muttered to himself, shoving the radio back into his pocket.

Greg walked further in, calling out for anybody there, with no answer. He came to a sort of crossroads of the paths and stopped. The place was as dark as anything, only the light from down the corridor lightly illuminating where he was. What the hell was going on?

He froze when he heard footsteps.

What if someone thought he was an intruder or something? He looked around frantically trying to source the footsteps, but to no avail. _ID badge. _At least he had ID on him... He could prove who he was at least, maybe get to the bottom of what was happening. He fumbled into his pockets once more, where the _hell _was it? Nobody could have stolen it, it was only ever Sherlock that managed that-

"Lost something?" a voice spoke, a figure coming into sight. He was holding up the warrant badge, smiling.

He turned.

_It__ w__as him._

"What the fuck is going on?" Greg backed away, still not processing the fact that Sherlock Holmes was stood in front of him, alive.

"Look, inspector, I can explain..."

"What the _fuck _is going on?!" he shouted, angry now, confused.

"Lestrad-"

"Is this some sort of sick _joke?_" he spat, pulling out his handgun (he wasn't supposed to have it but he always carried it in case of emergencies).

Sherlock backed up quickly, putting his hands up in shock, "Lestrade, please! Put the gun down, let me explain! It's me! I'm alive"

"Prove it" he aimed the gun at his head.

"Fine," he nodded, "put the gun down first"

Lestrade reluctantly put the gun away, allowing the man to prove himself.

"Firstly, I see you've cut your hair, not the best barbers in town from what I can tell, not your usual cut. This shows you've not had time to care about your physical appearance as of late, and you do things for practicality reasons. This is most likely down to stress. I know the most probable reason – the serial murders that have been happening over the past few weeks, I do still follow the London news when I can. From what I've gathered, you've been going at it all wrong, I managed to sneak into a couple of the crime scenes, trust me I think I may have a lead. Your instant reaction to seeing me was to pull a gun, you obviously cannot cope with the fact that it would physically be me stood in front of you. Bags under your eyes – not much sleep recently from what I can see, probably linked to stress. Now looking at your clothes I can see how you've managed to button your shirt wrong, overslept did we? Your tie isn't freshly done this morning, you've just put it on after loosening it yesterday, you obviously don't feel like caring much anymore. Look at your hands, your fingers yellowed and slightly dry – obviously smoking again, nicotine patches haven't worked for you. Your wife finally left you for the PE teacher I see? Predictable really. Overall you seem a very high strung man at the moment"

"Sherlock? How?" Greg looked stunned, he had got every detail right.

"Proof enough for you, inspector?"

He coughed nervously, still in shock "I suppose, yeah. I just have one thing to say to you though..."

"What?"

"You fucking bastard" Greg launched his fist into Sherlock's face, knocking the man backwards into the wall. Sherlock staggered as he held his bleeding face, looking at Greg in shock. He'd proved himself hadn't he? Why was he still attacking him?

"What..?" Sherlock said, slurring his words slightly through the pain.

"You fucking bastard, Sherlock. How the _hell _could you do that to John? To everyone?" He spat angrily at Sherlock.

Was what Molly had said about him true...?

"John?"

"Yes, he's been depressed, Sherlock, barely eating. He's hardly been out of his fucking _flat. _He's not been coping, Sherlock and you just swan in, alive as ever, trying to _joke _with me? Stealing my ID card?", Greg then realised, "You called me here didn't you?"

"I had no idea John was so affected..." Sherlock looked bewildered, shocked with the news of John.

"Yeah well it's your fault. We've been left to pick up the pieces. You made your best friend watch you _die. _No- he's not your friend, friends don't _do _that to one another"

"But the recording! I thought John might have explain-"

"Yeah, he did. Saving our lives by faking your death, could've at least had the courtesy to tell us you didn't actually die afterwards"

"I had to go and take down Moriarty's web, Lestrade"

Greg ran his hand through his hair.

"Tell him you're alive"

"I can't. Not yet"

"_Tell him you're alive!" _he shouted this time, "I will if you won't"

"_No!_ Please, Lestrade, you have to do this for me" Sherlock begged.

"Me? Do something for you? Like you did for John? By saving his life you nearly made him top himself in the process, well done"

"I promise I'll tell him, just not yet"

"Why not?"

"Because the moment John even _knows _I'm alive, a sniper could shoot him dead in a second. I can't risk that"

"Then why are you telling _me_? Am I gonna be shot then too?"

"I highly doubt it. I got rid of everyone affiliated with your assassin. I assume you know about that, right?" Sherlock asked, wondering how much John had told him.

Greg had calmed down a bit now, nodding, "Yeah. Another question by the way, why did your phone wipe? Seems a bit of a coincidence?" he inquired, stepping closer to Sherlock.

"The message was only ever intended for John to play _once. _I needed to make sure he wouldn't try to use it as evidence, people working for Moriarty would get the slip and bang! I set my phone to wipe itself just after the message was played. I had to get rid of the email too..." Sherlock explained.

"You know he's been driven out of his mind right?", he looked down at Sherlock's coat, "He spent ages trying to track down your bloody _coat_ the other day,Sherlock, by the way"

"Yes... I was warned about that problem, although I think it's okay for now. Anyway, I need to get going, Moriarty's web isn't down yet, so please, don't tell John" he stared at Greg meaningfully.

"What so you're just gonna leave just like that?! No I need more answers"

"I can't right now, I will explain to you though one day... Maybe in detail I don't know. But please would just please keep it to yourself?"

"Who else knows?"

He had to lie for the moment, "Nobody"

"Fine. And I'm only doing this for John you know, and you better explain to him afterwards why I had to keep it from him, if he ever finds out I knew. You promise you'll tell him, though?"

"In time, inspector, when it's safe"

* * *

**So there we go for another chapter! I still haven't exactly worked out what will happen next yet but I will soon, trust me! I will try to publish the next chapter sooner, I promise.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	11. Chapter 11

**God I know I said I'd upload quicker this time, I'm sorry. I've had so much on you wouldn't believe. But yes here we go - chapter 11. This has been going on a while now hasn't it? I hope you're enjoying it, I am! Please review!**

* * *

Mary and John had been together for three months, and John felt the happiest he'd been in ages. They'd spent Christmas together, of course. They'd had a make-shift Christmas dinner for two, which was lovely. John didn't ever really _do _Christmas that much. Not that he didn't want to, hell he even convinced Sherlock to let them put decorations up in the flat last Christmas! He pretended not to like it but John knew he secretly didn't mind it. He'd missed Sherlock this Christmas. Of course he did, he was his best friend. He always knew exactly what to get John, Sherlock usually just got a book or something along those lines from him.

He and Mary had mostly just spent the day snuggled up on the sofa together, neither of them able to go home for Christmas. She'd made John watch Downton Abbey, something he thought he would never had to endure, but to be honest by the end... he enjoyed it. He didn't exactly admit this to Mary, obviously, who seemed to be very upset about the ending still... John didn't know the characters but he guessed he was important in the story...

On Boxing Day they visited Sherlock's grave. It was cold and bitter but Mary still stayed with John the full 45 minutes he decided to stay there. She'd sat on a bench waiting for him most of the time, giving him the privacy he needed. He had cried, and she comforted him, barely saying a word, just letting him grieve. Mary would liked to have known Sherlock, he sounded like he was a very interesting man.

New Year's was better. She managed to convince John to invite some friends round for drinks. He invited Greg, Molly and Mrs Hudson, much like last year's Christmas gathering. Words were said, and John felt better about the situation. He needed friends around him. He apologised to Mrs Hudson for leaving her in the lurch, her instantly dismissing it, pulling him into a tight hug, calling him her boy.

Molly had stood out of it a bit, the guilt making her feel sick. Everyone in this room was still mourning for the man only she knew was alive. Even though she knew there was nothing she could do about it, she still felt guilty as hell for doing this to John, to Mrs Hudson, to Greg...

Greg had also stood slightly out of it, too. He'd obviously talked to John and everything, but he wasn't 100% himself with him. Every time he looked at John, all he could think about was how he knew Sherlock was alive and he didn't. Nobody did. How could he do this to everyone? He had to keep telling himself it was for John's safety, which it was. He couldn't tell anybody, apart from the obvious reason, he also wanted to ensure his own safety. Who knew who was watching and listening?

Overall it had been a pleasant evening, Mary had been formally introduced to everybody, although Molly instantly recognised her anyway as she was her regular hairdresser. (_Great, more guilt to deal with)._

It was now February, Spring in sight. John was determined to make this new year a fresh start. Well, not forgetting about Sherlock obviously, he couldn't, but he just wanted to try and get back to normal as much as possible. Sherlock would probably be having a go at John right now if he saw the state he'd been in.

Mary had saved him, he didn't know what he would've done without her. She'd helped him to come out of his shell of isolation, to start to live again. She had been wonderful over the past months they'd been together, as had Greg and Mrs Hudson.

John had changed. He was feeling brighter and more optimistic about life. Sherlock was always in his mind of course, a photo of him and John framed on the mantelpiece. He'd always loved that photo. It was a candid shot Mrs Hudson had taken at the Christmas party last year, he and Sherlock were sat next to each other on the sofa, laughing. He hadn't put it up while Sherlock was alive, he'd probably label it sentiment and deem it unnecessary, although John would have kept it up anyway. He rediscovered it when sorting through the boxes of Sherlock's things with Mary, something that was long overdue. She'd told him to put it up, which John had been hesitant about at first, but Mary encouraged him that he should be reminded of the happy times he had with Sherlock, and she was right. John had known the real Sherlock, the one beneath the cold exterior, the one with a roaring laugh and a heart warming smile. The one the world never knew.

John had a moustache, too. He'd not shaved for a few days over the Christmas holidays and he then decided to keep growing it. He wasn't sure how Mary felt about it, she'd said she liked it, but he wasn't 100% sure she was telling the truth... Oh well. He liked it.

* * *

"Molly?" Sherlock called as he heard the front door of the flat close.

"Yes, hi" she answered, carrying bags of shopping through and dumping them onto the kitchen counter.

"Do you need any help with all that?"

"Uh... Yeah, thanks" she handed him a bag and he began to take things out, knowing now where everything was supposed to be located.

Sherlock had been staying at Molly's flat for the past few months, briefly going to Canada to sort out the last of Moriarty's web, she still was unaware if everything was finished with, he didn't exactly say... He said something about it nearly being finished, it was all getting quite frustrating. Sherlock wasn't the easiest of people to live with, but at least she'd confiscated his guns now...

"So how have you been occupying yourself today?"

"Oh not much, went out, watched some television, tested the cat's saliva again" he casually said.

"It's _Toby, _Sherlock! Be careful with him, he's only two- wait you went out? What for?" Sherlock wasn't supposed to go out very often to keep himself on the down low.

"Oh, nothing really" in truth he had been helping Lestrade on a case, not that he could tell Molly yet, she hadn't exactly found out yet that he knew.

"Tell me" Molly put the can she was holding back onto the worktop, turning to look at Sherlock.

"I went to buy some more... milk" he lied.

Molly marched to the fridge, pulling the door open, "Where's this milk then, Sherlock? Hm?" she gestured to the fridge shelves, where no milk was to be found.

"I was just walking, okay? Am I not allowed to do that anymore?"

"Right" she turned back to the shopping, picking up the can once more and placing it in the cupboard. She noticed something under it.

Sherlock noticed what it was before she did. It was a case file from Lestrade.

_Shit._

"Oh that's nothing let me take that" he jumped forward to try to grab it first, but Molly beat him to it.

"What the hell? A case file? Why would you need that? I mean it's not as if-" her eyes widened in realisation, she began shaking her head, "No no no don't tell me"

"Molly just let me-"

"You're working with Lestrade again, aren't you?" she said angrily, slamming the file down.

"Well, yes, but-"

"Are you fucking joking, Sherlock? You told _him _before your best friend?"

"Technically, yes, but I haven't told him any details John doesn't already know"

"Oh, except maybe the little detail that you're _not fucking dead?"_

"Molly, listen-"

"How long?" she suddenly asked.

"What?"

"How long has he known?"

Sherlock sighed. There was no point trying to lie to her, "Since before Christmas. I've been secretly helping him with cases"

Molly's jaw dropped and she covered it with her hand, "Holy _shit, _Sherlock. How could you do that?"

"Well I was going to tell his later but to be honest he was doing an awful job with that serial murder case and he needed some help..."

"You and your bloody ego. When were you planning on telling John?"

"I don't know. With Lestrade I know his assassins are down, but with John, I just can't take the risk, Molly"

Molly calmed down slightly, tears welling in her eyes, "I don't know how much longer I can do this, Sherlock, really I don't"

"It will be over soon"

"Soon, soon, soon, you _keep _saying soon. When _is _soon, Sherlock? Cause I've had enough, Sherlock" tears were now streaming down her face, "I have to lie to everybody, to Mrs Hudson, to John, and it's really not nice, you know? I know you can probably do it no problem but I find it really hard, Sherlock"

"Well to be honest-"

"Oh just leave me alone!" Molly turned, pushing past Sherlock towards her bedroom door.

"Molly!" he called after her, but he was silenced by the slam of her door. He sighed, slamming down the can he was holding.

That was when his phone buzzed.

Only one person knew his number now.

**_They're all down. You're clear, brother. - MH_**

* * *

**Duh duh duuuuuuuuuh! Well, I hope you enjoyed that chapter, and as you can tell, it's all hotting up now...**

**Please review, I would appreciate it so much.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Here we go. This story is actually nearly finished! Sorry it's late ****_again _****I've had a lot of work and frankly I've had a bit of writer's block... Anyway. Enjoy!**

* * *

Why was Sherlock so difficult? She cared about him a lot but he was still such a pain. Why couldn't it just be easy for her? She'd just turned 32 and what was her life? She was smuggling a person in her flat while lying to her friends, she was single and lived alone except for her cat, Toby. Well, and Sherlock at the moment, she supposed. Although he was impossible to live with, she enjoyed the company to be honest. He didn't speak for ninety percent of the time, engulfed in his mind palace, but it was still nice to know someone else was there. She didn't know her feelings for Sherlock anymore. She was angry with him though, she knew that much. How could he tell Lestrade before John?

Now Molly had calmed down she felt slightly embarrassed of her earlier outburst. Maybe she should just walk out and act like it never happened, Sherlock's quite good at that anyway. He won't try and dwell on it, sometimes that's a good thing.

She gave Toby one last stroke on his head and she rose from her bed, checking herself in the mirror. Her eyes were still slightly red from crying but it wasn't too noticeable, and she didn't think in this case that Sherlock would point it out even if he did. She opened the door, walking out into the small corridor, turning the corner to the living room, fully expecting Sherlock to be lay on the sofa in the corner.

He wasn't.

Where the hell was he? She walked around the flat, calling his name. No response. He wasn;t anywhere to be found. He'd probably gone out. Shit. She flopped onto the sofa, unable to do anything else, she just hoped he wasn't going to do anything stupid.

* * *

Here it was once more. 221b Baker Street. His home.

Sherlock stared up at the door, the gold letters shining in the city lights. He wouldn't knock, he might risk having a door in his face. After all, John wasn't exactly going to be ecstatic from seeing him. Instead he reached into his pocket, finding the key at the bottom. He turned it in his hand and then positioned it in the lock. He slowly turned it.

* * *

Mrs Hudson was washing up, more dishes than usual tonight. Her friends Carol and Sally had come round earlier for dinner and coffee, she'd had a lovely catch up with them. It was about eight now, but it had been dark for hours. She did always like the winter months though. The light suddenly shifted, and she turned towards the door.

She heard a lock. Mrs Hudson put down the plate, taking off her gloves. She walked towards the back of the kitchen, trying to hide slightly. She decided to call out.

"Who's there?"

Silence.

The light shifted again, and there was the sound of a closing door. Was it a burglar? She tried to be as quiet as possible, slowing her breathing. She reached to the drawer, pulling out a rolling pin. It wasn't exactly a gun, but it was the best she could find for now. The damn knives were in the dishwasher...

Her flat door opened, a shadow approaching. Mrs Hudson jumped out in front of the intruder, wielding her rolling pin, "Now stop right ther-"

The rolling pin hit the floor.

"Sherlock?"

"Mrs Hudson"

"What? Oh god I know I shouldn't let Carol give me those soothers... I'm going mad" she put her hands on her face, rubbing her eyes.

"No, it's me. It's actually me, Mrs Hudson. I am alive and here, you aren't going delusional"

Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes welled with tears, "Sh-Sherlock? It's actually you? How..?"

"Look, I can explain Mrs Hudson..."

He was cut off by Mrs Hudson rushing to him, throwing her arms around him, hugging him close. He smiled, hugging her back. She was like a mother to him.

"You know, you're the first one that wasn't angry when I told them"

"Oh, I am annoyed and confused, dear. But just for now I just want to appreciate you're here with us", she pulled away, briefly putting her hand on his cheek.

"You silly man"

"Mrs Hudson, I can explain everything"

"Yes, you better. First let's get you some tea"

* * *

The cup was warm in his hands, he was sitting on Mrs Hudson's sofa. He sipped the tea while Mrs Hudson sat herself down, still with a bewildered look on her face. She was tough though, she calmed quite quickly.  
"You might want to call John down too" Sherlock suggested. He was meant to go and see him first, but he thought he may as well see Mrs Hudson. Also because of the fact that he was scared of what John's reaction may be, it might be better if Mrs Hudson was there too.

"John?"

"Yes, John" what was wrong with calling him down here? He was only upstairs. "What, is he out?"

"He doesn't live here anymore, Sherlock"

Sherlock froze. Nobody had told him that. John, not in 221b, it was hard to imagine. He supposed John found it too hard to imagine 221b without Sherlock. So where was he living now? Was he even in London? He'd moved on.

"Oh" was all he could reply.

"He's still in London, Sherlock. He's living a bit further away, but still in London. He moved out after you- after _it _happened. He couldn't bear to live there anymore, too many memories" Mrs Hudson replied sadly.

"...How is he?" he asked nervously.

"Getting better I think. I hope you know how much tragedy you've put that man through. How could you do that? Leave him? Why?" she looked disappointed.

"I didn't want to, Mrs Hudson, truly, it's just-"

"Then _why_? I don't understand why you would do something like that. Why fake your own death for no reason? It's sick, Sherlock"

"I did it to save your life. And John's. And Greg's. Moriarty. He said if I didn't die, you would. I faked my death. Ever since I've been taking down Moriarty's criminal web, piece by piece. It's only just became safe to come back. Since about forty two minutes ago, actually. I came straight here"

Mrs Hudson had her hand clasped over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.

"Oh my boy" she put her tea down, hugging Sherlock again.

"Where's John?" he suddenly asked, his mind unable to waver from his partner.

"Well. Most likely his flat. I'll give you the address. "

"Thank you" he replied, this all becoming very real now. He was going to see John.

Mrs Hudson went to the kitchen and came back with a notebook. She flicked through the pages and found the page she wanted. She placed the book upside down on the worktop, grabbing a piece of paper and jotting the address down. Closing the book, she handed the paper to Sherlock.

"There you go my dear"

"Thank you Mrs Hudson"

"That's okay dear, and please, Sherlock, go easy"

* * *

This was the right address, why was nobody answering? Flat 2, he was definitely ringing the right doorbell, the name 'Watson' displayed next to the buzzer. Where was he? He was probably out. Damn... He needed to see him. The light was still on. Why wasn't he answering? Thoughts flooded through Sherlock's mind, was John alright?

Sherlock looked down the alley that ran alongside the small flats, and the fire escape that was hanging. He could probably get in if he could get the window open... He'd done this before with Soo Lin's flat, he could probably manage it. He looked left and right down the quiet road before dashing down the alley. He jumped, grapping the fire escape steps, pulling them down. Clambering up, he saw that John's bathroom window was slightly open. Bingo. Sherlock reached the top, sliding the window open and slipping inside. He landed on his feet thankfully. Brushing himself off briefly, he noticed the amount of feminine hygiene products on the shelves. He didn't think much of it, probably another one of the 'two-week girlfriends' again.

Pushing the door open, he walked out into the hall of the small flat. It didn't feel very homely, Sherlock thought, but he supposed anywhere without any science equipment or experiments lying around didn't feel like home to him. It was _tidy _too. Sherlock knew John liked to keep things a bit tidy, but this was very tidy.

"John?" he called out.

No answer. Sherlock went around the flat, searching in each room. This didn't take long. For a consulting detective he really did miss the obvious female presence in this flat...

He noticed a note on the table.

_Olive garden  
8:30pm Tuesday _

It was a restaurant reservation. He'd been on the phone and jotted down a reminder... So. He was out then. He better go and join him.

* * *

**Until next time...**

**Please review, it really motivates me to write quicker. Thank you for all of the lovely reviews I've been getting!**


	13. Chapter 13

**So. I think you all know what's coming... **

**Please review!**

* * *

"So, swanky place, huh?" John commented, straightening his tie, "So exactly _who _recommended this place to you again?" he laughed.

John and Mary were sat in The Olive Grove, a posh restaurant just near Euston. It wasn't exactly the sort of dining they were used to. Yeah, sure they went out to dinner sometimes, but it was usually either to get takeout or to just a small restaurant. Now this, _this _was pretty posh. Mary had put on a proper dress, jewellery, the lot. John thought she looked stunning, but saying that he always thought that anyway. This place had been recommended to Mary by a friend of hers (at least he thought so)... Her sister worked in senior management so she could get John and Mary a free meal (it was very expensive). Apparently Mary had helped her out and returned the favour. Nice of her, though John would have been just as happy sat on the sofa at home with a Chinese takeaway. But still, this was a treat.

"It was Paula! I did tell you! She was one of my customers, remember? I managed to work a miracle on her hair when she'd properly fucked it up... Oh shit should I swear in a place like this- god there I go again" she laughed, playing with her cutlery slightly. She noticed John's smirk, "yes I know it's not our sort of thing, John, but it's free so shut up and eat whatever the hell you want, I know I will!"

"Oh but however will I know which fork to use, m'lady?" he mocked in a posh voice, picking up the fork and twirling it.

Mary batted his hand down, laughing, "John! Stop it! You'll get us kicked out! Now here, look at the menu, I'm going to go and find the fancy bathroom with all its fancy handsoaps and loo-roll, okay? And the waiter will probably come round for wine. Pick an expensive one, we might as well, just not red" she winked, tapping John on the hand before disappearing into the restaurant.

John glanced down at the menu, looking at the white wines. £60 for a bottle? God. Well it was a fancy restaurant, and it was free. Fuck it.

* * *

The Olive Grove. This was it. Behind that door was a man he hadn't seen in nearly a year, and god knows how he was going to react. Should he just wait until he finished his meal and came out? It would cause less public drama, although if he was alone with him outside in a backstreet ally who knew how far he'd go. No, better stick to just going in, whatever he did there would be damage.

He walked towards the door, straightening out his shirt collar. Sherlock tried to gauge on what John's reaction would be. Angry? Most probable. Upset? Hm. Happy? Why wouldn't he be? Sherlock couldn't really think why John would be that upset, I mean it was ages ago, why would he still be upset?

He pushed the door of the restaurant open, slipping his coat off of his shoulders, hanging it on the nearby coat rack. He walked straight past the maitre de, not that he even noticed Sherlock had come in. He walked straight forwards, his eyes not really scanning for John.

Then he saw him.

John, his John, sitting there looking hideously out of place for an ex soldier, swilling his wine glass. John Watson, in the flesh. Sherlock froze. He hadn't seen him in months. He had gained back the weight he lost, it seemed. He seemed happier, the bags under his eyes weren't too heavy. His hair was neatly combed, even a moustache (really, John?)...

Sherlock stepped back slightly, now unsure about whether he could do this. While doing so, he ended up bumping into the waiter, who then tripped, sending his tray of drinks flying. The multiple glasses smashed to the ground. Sherlock quickly made to help the waiter up, hoping it hadn't attracted too much attention.

It had. The whole restaurant had turned to look. Including John.

Sherlock's eyes instantly locked with John's, who was sitting a mere three metres away from where he stood. Sherlock stood in pure shock, unsure of what to do, staring at John who looked like he'd seen a ghost.

The whole restaurant had turned away, except for John, who had remained locked in the same expression, his face fallen, just staring.

"Sherlock?"

"John" Sherlock said, it was the only thing he could say.

"Excuse me sir but would you please move so we can clear up the glass?" he heard the waiter say behind him. Sherlock turned, looking down at the glass, then stepping away from it, a man with a broom instantly taking his place. He looked back up to John, but he was gone.

That's when Mary walked back to the table, not even noticing what had happened. She pulled her chair out, ready to sit down again, when she noticed John wasn't sat opposite. She looked towards the door to see John already outside, marching away from the restaurant at quite a pace. She noticed another man also looking at him, and when he turned back around, her jaw dropped. It was him.

"It's you"

"What?" Sherlock turned towards the woman's voice, seeming slightly confused as to who she was. Oh. Of course. It was his girlfriend.

"Sherlock Holmes"

"Uh, yes" he replied quickly, still trying to process what to do next.

"So you're really him?" she inquired, still in shock herself.

"Yes, I'm really Sherlock"

"I'm Mary by the way, John's-"

"Girlfriend, yes, I gathered"

"I don't know what the _hell_ you've done, but you better fix this"

"I didn't expect John to... react like that"

"Are you fucking _joking? _You _died, _his best friend and you expect him to be okay when you just waltz back in here alive?"

"Well that was the plan, yes"

"Well you really are as socially ignorant as I've heard, then. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to check on John" she glanced at Sherlock, walking towards the door. She grabbed their coats off the rack and continued out the door. Sherlock quickly followed.

* * *

John was in the back alley, pacing back and forth. He had his head in his hands.

It couldn't be him, it couldn't. He was _dead. _ Was he hallucinating? There was no reason why he would be, he wasn't on medication. His best friend was stood in front of him, alive and he couldn't fathom how that could be. He'd watched him fall, heard his last words and seen him bloody on the floor, he'd felt his pulse (or lack of it).

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"John?" he kept his head down, still breathing heavily.

"Mary" was all he could say. He couldn't explain in words how he was feeling, what had just happened.

"Look at me, John. I don't understand what just happened either, but just know it's not in your head, John. He is there, and you need to face that. Just talk to him" she encouraged.

"I don't want to see that bastard"

"Please, John" another voice spoke. Sherlock stood a few metres behind Mary. Mary stood aside, leaving Sherlock to step forward towards John, "just let me explain"

John just stared at Sherlock.

Next John nodded to Mary, signalling to her that he would be fine alone. She walked back towards the front of the restaurant.

"Is it really you?" John asked hesitantly.

"Yes, of course it is, John" Sherlock replied.

"Prove it" he insisted.

"Is that really necessary?"

"You were dead, on the pavement, Sherlock. I think it's necessary" his voice was cracking.

"Your name is Doctor John Hamish Watson, you're an ex army doctor of the fifth Northumb-" he began to ramble.

"No. _Prove _it. Anyone could know that just by searching my name." John interrupted him, wanting to make sure this was really Sherlock.

Sherlock knew what he meant by proving it.

"Fine then, if you feel it's necessary," he stepped back, looking John up and down, "You're not completely sober, firstly. I see you had finished at least one glass of that wine when I arrived at the restaurant and you don't seem as steady as you usually are. You're tired. I see the bags under your eyes, classic sign. You're not staying up all night though, it's getting better. You left in a rush to get here, I see. Your tie doesn't look like you took a lot of care whilst tying it, and your shoes look messily tied. I also see you're angry, obviously, mixed with a few other emotions but I won't go into that. Is that proof enough for you?"

There was a long pregnant pause. John looked down, obviously still trying to process the fact that Sherlock was stood in front of him. In truth he hadn't believed it wasn't him he just wanted to double check... The things people were willing to do for a sick joke.

"So you're alive then" he finally spoke. His voice turned bitter, "So, what? Has science made some miraculous development that I haven't heard about?"

"John, I faked my death" Sherlock replied matter-of-factly, not catching onto John's sarcasm.

"No shit, Sherlock"

"John, I'm sorry"

"Six months!" he shouted, his voice cracking. He felt his eyes begin to sting with unshed tears.

"I know, John. I needed to make sure you were safe first"

"I was a bloody _soldier, _Sherlock. I don't _need _looking after"

"Well by the sounds of things you were in a pretty bad way during these past months"

John went silent, looking down. He was right. Once Sherlock had di- jumped (he corrected himself) he had plummeted.

"Yeah, well..." was all John could say. He didn't sound angry now, more upset.

"I understand, John"

"You will _never _understand" he bit back, becoming angry again.

"John I understand you're angry with me, but there was a reason I was doing all of this! I was protecting you John" he attempted to explain.

"_Protecting me? _Again, I don't _need _protecting" he half shouted.

"I'll explain it all I swear, but just know I only did what I did for your benefit, so I could come back, so we could work together again. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping though your veins", Sherlock was smiling now, "just the two of us against the rest of the world!"

Sherlock had barely finished his sentence when John gripped his lapels, yanking him towards him and headbutting him. Sherlock staggered back, steadying himself on the wall. He looked up to John, who had turned to walk away, making his way to the front of the restaurant. _God that hurt. _

He held his hand to his nose, which was most probably broken. He'd have to set that later, not that he was any good at it – John usually dealt with that for him. He shook his head trying to will himself out of his shocked daze. He stumbled towards the front of the restaurant, faintly hearing John hailing a taxi.

"Come on Mary, we're leaving" John spoke to Mary, stood next the taxi ready to go.

"John, please just wait a minute"

Sherlock had regained his footing and was now walking towards Mary, who was standing half way down the street. Was she waiting for him? She looked torn. She turned towards Sherlock, not seeming to be surprised when she saw him holding his broken nose.

"Hm. No surprises there" she gestured to his injury.

"Mary, please speak to him" Sherlock pleaded.

"Look. He's angry now, I know, and you have to understand that okay?" she spoke to Sherlock bluntly, although her voice wasn't harsh. She took a tissue out of her handbag and handed it to Sherlock, who held it to his bleeding nose.

"I don't understand, I said I was sorry" said Sherlock.

Mary laughed. He really didn't understand people, did he?

"It's going to take a lot more than that Sherlock, trust me"

"I thought he'd be happy though" Sherlock sounded disappointed. He was truthfully. When you haven't seen your best friend for months the last thing you want to be greeted with is harsh words and a punch in the nose. (Not that he was particularly expecting any less.)

"He will be, Sherlock. You have to give him time, and you have a lot of explaining to do. You put him through _hell, _I hope you realise that"

"Yes I appreciate that. In truth I really didn't expect him to have been so affected"

"Mary!" John called, still holding the taxi.

"Well. I'm going to have to go"

"Of course"

"You need to sort this though"

Sherlock nodded in agreement, giving a silent goodbye to Mary. There was no point trying to talk to John now. He tried to meet his gaze to no avail.

Mary got into the taxi and they drove away down the street.

Well. That could have gone better.

* * *

**So there we go...! I think I may carry this on a bit longer (there's a new chapter definitely on its way) if you want me to? I hoped you liked the way I played that, I've been pondering on exactly what the reaction should've been played out like...**

**Anyway. PLEASE REVIEW. I need all the feedback I can get. Thank you SO much for the continued support so far :) **


	14. Chapter 14

**It's been a while I know... I'm sorry. Better late than never though! Enjoy and please review!**

* * *

Mycroft Holmes wasn't shocked when he heard the door to his office swing open without notice at this hour. He knew who it would be though, he'd been expecting him about now.

"Sherlock" he said without looking up from his paper, a slight smile on his face. His brother grunted in response. When Mycroft finally looked up, he wasn't surprised by what he saw.

"So I take it the little meeting with John didn't go to plan? Judging by your poorly set bloody nose I take it that it didn't go well at all, little brother"

Sherlock dabbed at his nose with the clump of tissue in his hand, "Shut up, Mycroft. He just needs to let me explain everything, that's all"

"Did you really think that you would show up and everything would be fine?" he leant back in his chair, placing his hands together.

"Well, I expected some anger, but overall I suppose I did"

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, can tell who a murderer is by the slightest of clues, and yet the human emotions still baffle him... I did warn you" he chuckled and how naive his brother was being.

"Really? I don't seem to recall" he said sarcastically.

"Yes. When we first began all of this business, I told you that it wouldn't be easy to win John over, that you couldn't just stroll in and expect him to come running at the drop of a hat... Anyway, why come to me?"

"Well you're the only one I can speak to about thi-"

"I know you've told the Detective Inspector, you fool"

"Right. Well you're the only one that won't become emotionally compromised by having a conversation with me"

"Hm. Talk to him, Sherlock"

"I've _tried_"

"Then, try _again, _brother. Gosh, do I need to do everything for you?"

* * *

"Are you coming to bed, love?" Mary asked, walking into the front room, a fully dressed John still perched on the sofa.

No answer. He was just staring into space, his hands poised together in front of his face, as Sherlock often did.

"John? Talk to me, please"

Moments passed of more silence.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, uable to hold it in any longer. He sniffed, trying to stop it, but he couldn't. Sobs racked through him silently, John gasping for air between each one, clasping a hand over his mouth. Mary quickly sat down beside him, hugging him close. She didn't say a word, she just held him, stroking his head softly.

"I don't understand, Mary. I don't know what to do" he croaked out once he'd stopped crying so much. He quickly tried to compose himself, as if he was embarrassed that he'd let his guard down.

"Well how are you feeling?"

"What aren't I feeling, Mary? I'm angry. I'm hurt. I used to think and dream about this happening, just after he fell. That I'd wake up and Sherlock would be in the kitchen doing an experiment, alive as anything. That was all I wanted, I thought I would be ecstatic. But no. I don't even know how I'm feeling" John admitted, sitting up a bit more, wiping his face with his hands, "My best friend was dead on a slab not longer than six months ago and now he comes back alive expecting everything to be fine. That machi-" he stopped himself. No matter how angry he was with Sherlock, he had vowed to himself to _never _call Sherlock that _ever again. _

"What did he say?" personally she still didn't know how he was even alive, John hadn't said a word since.

"He said he did it all for a reason, that he had been protecting me"

"Well when he said he was protecting you surely he meant when he stopped you being killed?" he'd told her everything about a month ago.

"Why would he waltz off for six months, then? How is that protecting me? I don't understand. I've been in danger with Sherlock more times than I can remember, hell, his middle name is danger"

"Did you tell him what you know, John? What you heard on that recording?"

He had forgotten Sherlock didn't know that he knew, "No"

"Well don't you think you should?"

"Probably"

There was a long silence.

"You know it would have been less trouble if I'd just been shot" he suddenly stated.

"Don't you _dare, _John Watson. Why say something like that?" Mary reeled, hurt.

"Well it's true. Depression, not eating, not sleeping, going through hell just to have it thrown back at me like a practical joke. Sherlock wouldn't have been so affected if I'd have died, he'd probably be over it in a week, far less trauma, don't you think?" he said rather flippantly.

Slap. John reeled slightly when he realised Mary had slapped him across the face. It didn't really hurt, but he was still bemused. "What was that for?"

"For acting like a self centred bastard, that's why. Firstly, how you can _dare _say it would be better without you, it wouldn't, okay? I wouldn't even have met you John. And secondly, how you can say Sherlock wouldn't care about you?"

"Well he wouldn't, would he? This was the same man who couldn't understand why a woman was still upset about her stillborn daughter years on. He doesn't do sentiment, Mary"

"Maybe not for others" her voice softened.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You should have seen him John. He was devastated when you stormed off, begging me to get you to come round, said he'd do anything. He is your best friend"

"Was" he corrected.

"No. He still is and you know it. He's never stopped being your best friend, John"

"No. Not after what he did"

"What? Saving your life?"

"No. Faking his death to fool somebody else and not even telling me. All it took was a text. A bloody text"

"I'm sure he has his reasons, John" Mary suggested, knowing this had more to it than met the eye.

"So are you siding with him now?" John asked.

"No, of course not, but I think you need to talk to him. You should know it's not healthy to leave a wound open"

"I know, Mary. I just don't know if I can do it" he admitted.

"You can, John Watson"

John laughed vacantly, "It's funny, I've fought in Afghanistan and still I can't bear to go and talk to somebody"

"You _can,_ John Watson", Mary leant in and kissed John on the cheek, "Now come to bed, please. You need to sleep"

John slid his arm around Mary, squeezing her shoulder, "I'll be through in a minute".

Mary rose to go to the bedroom when John suddenly had a change of heart. He jumped up, grabbing his keys off the coffee table, walking towards the front door.

"Where are you going? John?" Mary came out of the bedroom, confused.

"Off out. I need to do something. Now"

He pushed the key in the lock, turning it. Shutting the door behind him, he headed down the stairs. He was going to find Sherlock, he needed to. He needed answers, he needed closure and although he didn't like to admit it, he still needed Sherlock.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Please leave a review and tell me what you think! **


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